


Inevitable

by akitsuko



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Biting, Coming In Pants, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Frottage, Grinding, John Watson Loves Sherlock Holmes, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Resolved Sexual Tension, Rutting, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Sherlock Holmes Loves John Watson, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-29
Updated: 2019-03-29
Packaged: 2019-12-26 07:54:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18279002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akitsuko/pseuds/akitsuko
Summary: Sherlock can't stop giggling. John can't stop wanting him. And suddenly there isn't a force in the universe that could keep them apart.





	Inevitable

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Alphabetmusic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alphabetmusic/gifts).



> Alphabetmusic - You left me a comment on another fic asking for John rutting against a giggling Sherlock. I got a tiny bit carried away, but I hope you like this!
> 
> Not proof-read.

They shared a single bottle of red wine between them at dinner. The alcohol content wasn't even that high. And the bottle had only just been polished off as they'd settled Angelo’s generously discounted bill, so it wasn't as if they had powered through it in a matter of minutes, either. They'd paced themselves sensibly.

 

So there was really no justification for Sherlock’s intermittent giggling fits on the way back to the flat, and John wasn't really sure why he was finding it so delightfully endearing.

 

They’d just solved a case. Not an exciting, adrenaline-filled, seat-of-your-pants, stakeouts, chases through the back alleys of London, mayhem and murder case. Just some expensive jewellery theft, combined with a bit of extortion and blackmail, and Sherlock had only been persuaded to take it on because he’d been bored out of his mind for the last several days and needed something to keep him occupied before John snapped and killed him.

 

Having something to do had been just what Sherlock had needed, which of course John had predicted. And he couldn't help shooting fond glances up at his best friend's face every time he heard another one of those little bursts of under-the-breath laughter. Something about the sound, on the back of a freshly solved case especially, was delicious and intoxicating, and on more than one occasion, John caught himself subconsciously licking his lower lip as he listened to it.

 

Mutual attraction. Sherlock may not have recognised it for what it was, but John had experienced it more than enough in his life to know its presence as it simmered in the air between them. A near constant presence, frequently leaving Sherlock visibly confused and John utterly frustrated as, over and over again, he attempted to find the courage to cross that platonic boundary that stubbornly clung to their relationship, and every time he found increasingly pathetic excuses not to.

 

Their friendship would suffer (it wouldn't).

 

He was misreading the signs (he wasn't).

 

He was afraid (of what? He had initiated relationships many times before).

 

The thing was that it had to be him. He knew Sherlock. He saw the arrogant, confident and brash exterior that everyone else did, and he was quite certain that these traits extended to the interior as well. But the man’s interpersonal skills were sorely lacking. Although he was more than capable of faking and portraying the behaviours involved in maintaining a romantic attachment, doing it for real was rather a different ball game. If he waited for Sherlock to make the first move, then it was likely that he might be waiting for the rest of his life, mutual attraction or not, simply because it was something unfamiliar for Sherlock and he was not a man who thrived on making mistakes.

 

So, if John wanted this to progress any further than stolen glances and vaguely lingering touches, he needed to be the one to initiate it and guide its development, wherever it may have taken them.

 

And right then, listening to Sherlock giggle to himself like he’d had far more than half a bottle of red wine to drink, it felt like the right time.

 

He grinned at his own confidence, his eyes still on Sherlock with his cheekbones shadowed against the moonlight and his lovely teeth peeking through his smile, and he vaguely wondered whether Angelo had added any extra ingredients into their wine.

 

He waited until they got back home, to Baker Street. The flat felt warm, shielded from the spring evening chill, and Sherlock was still laughing as he took off his coat and kicked off his shoes before draping himself across the full length of the sofa. Post-case giddiness was all that John could put it down to.

 

John, as was his normal habit upon returning to the flat, made his way into the kitchen. He had already flicked the kettle on and pulled two mugs out of the cupboard before his brain caught up and he asked himself what on earth he was doing. And Sherlock didn't even notice as he abandoned the tea-making task and came back into the living room, only taking in John’s presence as he came to stand beside him at the edge of the sofa.

 

The corners of Sherlock’s eyes were creased with his mirth, and his expression was relaxed for once, that normal furrow between his brows nowhere to be seen. His smile was just wide enough for the tips of his canines to poke out of his mouth, and he looked up at John with such openness and unmistakeable affection that John’s heart swelled. He had to return the smile. He already knew that he hadn't been wrong about this, but the sight before him was the nudge he’d apparently needed, the catalyst to start something they both wanted.

 

So he didn't question himself as he climbed on top of Sherlock, aligning their torsos and carefully entangling their legs, hovering his face inches away from his friend's beautifully sharp features. And Sherlock didn't move, didn't question him either, didn't appear at all shocked or unhappy about the development. His smile still played on his lips, although it now had a hungrier quality, his eyes growing darker as his pupils dilated, and if anything he seemed simply curious, probably wondering how far John would be willing to take this.

 

And John remained just where he was, almost enjoying the last few moments of unresolved sexual tension between them, savouring the sensation of having Sherlock right there, so close, and yet still potentially a million miles away if Sherlock decided to reject him at this last hurdle. He allowed one of his hands to rest on Sherlock’s shoulder, the luxury fabric warmed by the skin beneath, and brought the other hand further up to thread his fingers through the dark curls at the base of Sherlock's skull. Almost imperceptibly, Sherlock leaned his head back into the touch, and the tiny puff of air that escaped from his lips could almost have been an involuntary moan.

 

And John thought, he could have remained here forever. The moment was as perfect as any that he could ever have conjured in his imagination.

 

Then Sherlock giggled again. A low sound, coming from deep in his chest, the vibrations from it rumbling through John’s body too and suddenly there was nothing he could do but _want._ He leaned down to swallow that gorgeous sound with his mouth, effectively turning it from laughter straight into what was definitely a moan, and his whole body shuddered from the combined sensations of Sherlock’s lips against his own, the warmth of his body seeping through the layers that separated them, that lovely deep sound echoing in his ears and into his soul.

 

And Sherlock was so beautifully reciprocative, just as John had expected he would be. He returned the kiss with passion and fervour, both of his arms coming up to embrace John in a firm and possessive grip. He tilted his head to deepen the kiss, flicking his tongue out to brush lightly but insistently against the seam of John’s lips, and John was powerless to do anything but oblige. He opened his mouth, and the taste of Sherlock was like nothing he could have dreamed. He tightened his grip in Sherlock’s hair, eliciting a higher sound, more of a whimper from the back of Sherlock’s throat. And Sherlock’s entire body seemed to writhe against him, pushing up to increase the friction, stroking his feet along John’s legs, arching his chest as if he were trying to get all the way inside John’s skin.

 

John growled as he sank his teeth into Sherlock’s bottom lip. Already, he knew he was ruined for anyone else. Nothing could possibly compare to the sense of fulfillment that being with Sherlock like this, knowing that Sherlock wanted him too, could provide.

 

They would probably have to talk about this at some point. But then, it felt so inevitable, so unavoidable and cringingly fated, he wondered whether it would really be necessary.

 

He needed to know more, feel more. He tore himself away from Sherlock’s mouth and kissed his way along that strong jawline, savouring the feel of him and the taste of his skin, the rough texture of stubble that had grown throughout the day. Sherlock's arms tightened around him, and suddenly he was giggling again in earnest. A happy and joyous sound that just made John want to give him the world, give him anything he wanted.

 

He ground his hips down against Sherlock’s as he nibbled his teeth at the juncture between jaw and neck, and while Sherlock’s laughter persisted, it was also punctuated by sharp gasps as John adjusted his angle to ensure that both of their evident erections were aligned well enough to shoot bolts of pleasure through them with every thrust. It wasn't long before Sherlock was answering, rutting his own hips upwards into John as he threw his head back against the arm of the sofa, giggling with complete abandon and even, John would dare to venture, bliss.

 

John couldn't deny that the sound of Sherlock’s obvious joy was a turn-on. He dipped his head lower, intent on discovering each and every sensitive spot on Sherlock's neck, lathering him with desperate and ravenous attention. He kissed and he licked and he bit, tasting and paying as much attention as possible to the responses he could incite, even as he established a more definitive rhythm with his hips and began to make a more definitive attempt to build their pleasure up to what he knew beyond doubt would be the most satisfying climax of his life so far.

 

Hopefully the first of many with this man, this stunning and brilliant giggling man gripping at him and grinding back against him like the most wonderfully wanton creature in the world.

 

It was never going to have lasted long, not the first time. The tension had been there for too long. The time for slow, sensuous love-making would come later; this was altogether more primal, two halves of a whole coming together after too long spent resisting the pull of the other. It was Sherlock who came first. John could feel it in the stuttering of his hips, the tightening of his fingernails in the flesh of his back, and he could hear it as the laughter finally gave way to a gutteral sound so low and sexual that John could hardly bare it.

 

He bit down hard on the side of Sherlock’s neck as he followed him into orgasmic bliss only a few moments later. Seeing and feeling and hearing Sherlock at what must have been one of his most vulnerable moments was more than enough to propel John violently the rest of the way to his climax. He couldn't remember the last time he came in his pants like a randy teenager, but frankly he couldn't find it in himself to care, not while Sherlock’s flawless skin remained between his teeth and those long, strong arms maintained their tight grip around his back and his waist. He wondered if he may even have lost consciousness for a few seconds from the intensity of it all, because he suddenly found himself becoming aware again of where they were and the feeling of come getting cold inside his underwear was never going to be pleasant, even with Sherlock still pressed against him all the way to his toes.

 

Carefully, he released Sherlock’s neck, and revelled in the almost inaudible gasp that it produced. Without thinking, he darted his tongue out to lick a few times over the deep, red marks left by his teeth, and was overjoyed to feel Sherlock tilt his head to allow him better access to the area.

 

He regretted ever thinking that something like this could have made things awkward between them. It felt as natural as breathing, as natural as putting extra food on his own plate because he knew Sherlock would rather steal from him than eat his own serving, as natural as bickering over body parts in the fridge. It occurred to him how much time they had wasted already, for no good reason at all, and a pang runs through his heart.

 

Eventually, he lifted his head to search those all-seeing, all-observing, technicolour eyes, and found Sherlock gazing up at him with a dazed expression, no doubt still riding the high of his orgasm, and that wonderful smile continuing to dance at the corners of his mouth. John wouldn't have been at all surprised if the giggling fits were to begin again, and he wondered whether it would be a good idea or not for him to say something, to at least acknowledge the line they’ve just crossed.

 

But Sherlock beat him to it. “John,” he said simply, his voice broken and croaky but undoubtedly happy, and John felt his own face break into a smile.

 

He was right the first time. This had been far too inevitable for any other words to be necessary.

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave any negativity at the door. I'm back in hospital again, and even at the best of times I get upset by negative comments. I know many people thrive on criticism, but I am not one of them! I'm just enjoying myself. Ta.


End file.
